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I Got Botox. Does That Make Me a Hypocrite?
Reconciling self-acceptance with a little help from a syringe.
“All done!” proclaims Erin, my brand-new-to-me esthetician.
I smile and relax into her table. It’s covered in soft sheets and a heating pad, so I’m cozy as I simmer in a hazy parasympathetic response to the dozen injections she’s poked into my face. The pain was manageable, but I’m glad it’s over, and I tell her so.
“Oh good,” she says. “I wasn’t sure how you’d respond to your first time.”
“Well, I’ve had two c-sections. I was pretty confident I could handle a few jabs,” I joke.
She laughs, and I’m grateful — both for her humor and her competence during our appointment, as she explained and then performed new-to-me procedures: Dermaplane. Micropeel. Botox.
She holds up a mirror for me, and I stare back at my skin, rosy and radiant. I’m pleased.
“My skin thanks you,” I say.
“You’re welcome,” she replies. “You have thick skin.”
“Oh. Is thick… good?” I ask, unsure.
“It is. Skin thins as we age, but yours is nice and thick.”
“Okay, then,” I reply, relieved and also amused. I love when a turn of phrase is both literal…
